


Crazy for a Sharp Dressed Man

by Caeseria



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Suit Porn, Victuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeseria/pseuds/Caeseria
Summary: Victor loves watching Yuuri when he's wearing a suit.  He loves peeling it, layer by layer, from Yuuri's body at the end of the evening.  But first, he's got to make it through Yuuri's first sporting awards ceremony, and it promises to be the longest evening of his life to date.





	Crazy for a Sharp Dressed Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Yuri on ICE!!! Big Bang on tumblr. 
> 
> Many thanks to my artist, Eibashi, who did some awesome art for this story, which can be found [here. ](https://eibashi.tumblr.com/post/163491114994/first-time-trying-full-anime-art-for-the-yuri-on)
> 
> Also, if you want to listen to the song Yuuri skates to, it is called "The Island Awaits You", and can be found [here. ](https://youtu.be/lDgzBl4wZBM)

 

Every city looks different at night, and Tokyo is no exception, Victor thinks.  As the daylight fades, the rough edges vanish along with the crowds.  Darkness swathes the buildings in an intimate blanket, illuminated with neon signs and warm light, spilling from windows.  The harsh noise of the crowds are replaced with hushed voices, whispered words, and the heady bass line of dance music.  The city transforms from tired and worn to something magical; some unnamable thing that slips through your hands come morning.

Victor's been to Tokyo a handful of times over the years, but mostly for competitions.  Never for sightseeing.  He was usually too exhausted to appreciate the night life, has only ever really seen the city during the day.  Despite living in Hasetsu for eight months, the last time he actually visited Tokyo was in 2015 for Worlds.  Back then, Victor had the world in the palms of his hands, his for the taking; four-time World Champion, the most decorated skater in history and soon to make that five-time World Champion.  All that was before he’d moved to Hasetsu to coach Yuuri – before Yuuri had performed Stay Close to Me and the video had gone viral.  Despite all his accomplishments, he had felt empty, devoid of inspiration, close to dead inside.  It's a natural progression to think that all the places he's visited during his career feel dead to him too; empty shells with memories of empty times.

Except... now it is different.  Now he's in back Tokyo, just over two years later, with Yuuri.  Since he's met Yuuri, it's like someone's taken a brush laden with color and painted it fresh across his world. Sights, sounds, feelings; they all rush into the empty spaces inside Victor, inside his memories, and flow over with new experiences.  It's like fresh summer rain after a drought, sunlight on leaves beading with dew; the world sparkles new and vibrant and Victor can't look away, can't stop the need to watch Yuuri, to want to be part of this world he creates.  Victor's hooked; Yuuri's a drug, a desire, a passion and he's always looking for the next hit.

Even now, inside the hotel room, with the lights of Tokyo hugging the horizon, glittering softly, he can't believe he's here with Yuuri.  Yuuri steps out of the bathroom and Victor turns from his contemplation at the window.  His breath stops in his chest.  Yuuri is... _breathtaking_ , and he's not even trying.  He's dressed in a black suit, with a white shirt and black tie, and his hair is pushed back, a faint echo of his on-ice persona.  The only thing different is that he's wearing his glasses but, for some reason, it just makes Yuuri more intriguing, more of a puzzle.  Victor wants to ravish Yuuri, to peel the freshly pressed shirt from his body, to drop to his knees and worship every inch of him, hot breath on skin.  It's only made worse by the fact that Yuuri looks slightly hesitant, a little uncomfortable even, but that’s probably due to the awards ceremony they have to attend later.

"Ah, Victor?" he says, voice a little breathy with hesitation, "Is something wrong?"

"Hmm? Far from it, love. I was just thinking." Victor lets a hint of desire curl through his reply, and he's rewarded when Yuuri flushes, soft pink dusting his cheekbones just beneath his glasses.

"How does the suit look? Okay?" Yuuri asks, turning slowly, glancing back over his shoulder to keep Victor in view.

It takes Victor a minute to realize that Yuuri's teasing him, flaunting his body, that he's maybe not quite as nervous as he appears, that this is a show, an act.  It sends the blood pounding through Victor's veins, excitement curling in his gut, and he wonders if he's going to have the patience to make it through the long evening ahead of them.  Victor clears his throat, swallowing.  "The suit looks fine," he replies softly.  "Although..."  He steps toward Yuuri.  Yuuri's watching him and, for a moment, he can see a flash of Yuuri's Eros persona surface, hungry with desire, before it's hidden once again behind an innocent look and a bitten lip. 

Victor loves the dichotomy that is Yuuri; soft and hesitant, pliable in the right circumstances, then burning hot, wild, something dark and sexy, illicit, all wrapped in a thin veil of innocence.  Victor's not afraid to admit it drives him to distraction constantly, and he always wants to touch, as if to reassure himself that Yuuri is real and not a figment of his imagination.

He steps up to Yuuri and reaches out, adjusting his tie so it sits straight, letting his fingers linger longer than strictly necessary.  Yuuri takes a quick breath when Victor's fingers touch his tie, and he looks over the top of his glasses at Victor, watching him as he works.  Victor knows he's looking, lets him, then meets his eyes and smiles.  "You look perfect," he says, smoothing his hands along Yuuri's shoulders, then back again.  With the way Yuuri's watching him, Victor can't resist, and he cups Yuuri's face with both hands and leans in slowly for a kiss, lips touching briefly before Yuuri's part in invitation, his eyes fluttering closed.  The kiss is gentle, searching, and Victor can't get enough of these fleeting moments, transient as they are.  Yuuri winds his hands in Victor's hair, tugging slightly at the short strands at his nape, and Victor melts into the touch, content to surrender for the moment.

Yuuri sighs into the kiss and then pulls away.  "We have to go," Yuuri says reluctantly, like he'd much rather stay here and play. 

"Do we have to?" Victor knows he’s pouting; knows they have obligations elsewhere, but he loves the look Yuuri always gets at these moments, like maybe, with enough encouragement, he might be persuaded to stay in after all.

"You know we do."  This time Yuuri steps backward, slipping out of Victor’s embrace and pushing his glasses back up his nose.  “We’re going to be late.”

Now Victor grins; he’s got a safe distance away from the tempting package that is Katsuki Yuuri, and he can think somewhat clearly for the moment.  “Wouldn’t want to miss your own award ceremony, would we?” he says.

* * *

The award banquet they are attending is being held at the Imperial Hotel, and even Victor's impressed with the lush decor that greets them upon arrival.  The hotel is dated, but that's part of its charm, luxury seeping from every nook and cranny, every surface seemingly dripping with gold.

"Phichit would be impressed," Yuuri mutters under his breath and Victor can't help but laugh.  Delighted, he takes Yuuri's hand and presses his lips to Yuuri's knuckles, just next to his ring. Yuuri smiles, and it's a hot and private smile.  Victor loves these moments; Yuuri's good at timing them well.  Just when you think he's going to crumble in public or hesitate, that strong, seductive side emerges and leaves Victor a mess. Victor loves this, loves being caught off guard.

Yuuri tugs Victor through Reception, following the signs carefully set out toward the room where the dinner and award ceremony will take place.  As they get closer, the spaces in the hallways become more crowded with attendees, glittering in evening gowns and suits.  Victor recognizes a few celebrities, but not the majority of them.  He’s familiar with Team Japan – the skaters, anyway – but most of the others could be from any sport.  Yuuri seems to sense Victor’s confusion, and leans close as they check their coats, pointing out various well-known individuals in other sports disciplines. 

Once they’ve checked their coats, Yuuri immediately snags a glass of champagne and passes another to Victor.  “Do you do this in Russia?” Yuuri asks.

“This?” For a moment Victor is distracted by the view through the doorway into the ballroom.  It’s filled with many tables set for dinner, facing a stage, rather like a wedding.

“Sporting Award ceremonies.”  Yuuri takes a sip of his champagne and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” Victor replies with a smile. “Don’t most countries? Although I think the Americans could probably win by sheer number.”

That makes Yuuri laugh, and he winks at Victor, the echo of Eros rising seductively from beneath the surface.  They spend some time talking with some of the other athletes Yuuri is on friendly terms with, while Victor looks around the room and tries to be attentive.  It’s unusual for Victor to be in the background; usually he’s the one being fawned on, celebrated for his skills.  Not that Victor minds being Yuuri’s eye candy for the evening – not at all – he enjoys standing to the side watching Yuuri interact with his countrymen and women. Most of them switch to English so Victor can participate in the competition, which he appreciates. 

Eventually people start making their way to their seats for dinner.  There’s a lot of the usual shuffling around and staring at name cards; apparently high-ranking athletes are no different than the usual wedding guests when it comes to locating their seats.  Yuuri and Victor have been grouped with a selection of skaters, so at least Victor can talk shop rather than make meaningless small talk, for which he’s grateful.

Dinner passes quickly, the food excellent, along with the wine selection at the table.  Just as they are finishing dessert, a man approaches the table and leans down to whisper in Yuuri’s ear.  Yuuri nods to the man, placing his napkin on the tablecloth.  The man stands back up, acknowledges Victor, and bows slightly before leaving. 

“I have to go prepare for my speech,” Yuuri explains.  He looks a little subdued suddenly, maybe nervous.  Victor suddenly feels like a bit of an ass; he’s been watching Yuuri all night, admiring him, and failed to notice that the glittering veneer Yuuri was presenting was probably to hide his nerves.

“You’ll be perfect,” Victor says, leaning in to place a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek.  Predictably, Yuuri’s cheeks heat with a faint blush.  “Go get them.”

* * *

Yuuri’s been working on his speech for a couple of weeks, staying up late, tapping away at his computer with a frown on his face.  Victor knows that he’s been struggling to put into words what he wants to convey, and Victor knows that this is very important for him.  Yuuri wants to inspire the upcoming athletes, those nipping at his heels with talent and drive and, at the same time, he wants to inspire those with the money to invest in that talent.  That’s what this evening is about; politely persuading sponsors to cough up the money to invest in the future, while at the same time recognizing those at the pinnacle of their careers.  The Japanese are hugely enthusiastic about their figure skating, this Victor knows, and Yuuri is Japan’s Ace.  He’s just finished the season, narrowly beating Victor himself to the title of World Champion for the first time.  Not only that, he’s got Victor on his arm this evening.  Yuuri is an impressive sight to behold, that’s for sure.

The room lights dip down, signaling stragglers to return to their tables for the proper ceremony to start now that dinner is over.  Chatter dies down, and the room is almost dark, save for the flickering candlelight, spilling warm pools of gold across each table.  The MC approaches the stage, climbs the stairs, and welcomes everyone.  Victor can make out shadows at the side of the stage; he assumes Yuuri must be one of them.  Silently he wishes him luck, expecting him to walk out on stage.  Instead, the host, speaking Japanese, clearly says Yuuri’s name, and then a huge screen drops slowly down on stage from the ceiling.  What light there is in the room fades quickly and the room goes silent. 

The first strains of music fill the room, like the spill of slow moving water, and then Victor’s mouth drops open as he stares at the screen.  Yuuri – _his Yuuri_ – is there, moving through the first steps of a program that Victor has never seen before.  As a choir joins the music, Yuuri starts to skate, flowing across the ice, slow and sensual.  It’s like an exhibition skate, but clearly pre-recorded, and the ice is bathed in soft blues and whites, until it feels like Yuuri is under water.  The music swells and ebbs with his graceful movements, slow and sure, and it’s clear that he’s using every part of his ballet training to full degree. 

Victor can’t look away; Yuuri is otherworldly and fascinating, a sensual god of the ice and the water, his costume clinging seductively to his body, sparkling with what must be hundreds of crystals, the sharp cut of the black choker across his neck an invitation to lick at the sensitive skin there, to bite and leave a mark.  As much as Victor loves Yuuri’s body, craves it, it’s his facial expression that absolutely destroys Victor this time.  It reminds him of Yuuri’s free skate; the way he had tilted his head back, eyes closed, arms stretched out as if to say, _take me, I’m yours_.  This is no different; this song is simply a siren call to Victor.  Victor’s a drowning sailor, lost in the storm, and Yuuri is calling to him; flying through a quad triple combination with ease, sliding into an outside spread eagle, twisting his body elegantly as he moves into a serpentine step sequence so complicated that most skaters would weep with the ease at which he does it. 

This is the beauty of a pre-recorded program, Victor thinks.  When you are present as a coach, next to the ice watching, your skater is far out from the boards.  You can only appreciate the aesthetics from a distance.  This… this he can see up close thanks to the wonder of the cameras, equipped with zoom, following Yuuri’s every move.  He can see Yuuri’s muscles bunch and tense beneath his costume as he jumps, the graceful arch of his back as he moves into a layback Ina Bauer, the way his fingertips brush the ice like a caress when he slides to the ice, hydroplaning in a giant, graceful circle like it’s something everyone should be able to do with ease.

Throughout it all, Yuuri’s face is serene, eyes seemingly half-lidded in a knowing gaze that calls to Victor, tugs at him like they are bound by the string of fate.  Yuuri finishes the program flawlessly, an echo of the end of his free skate, arm outstretched to the side, fingers pointing to the side, body heaving with exertion.

Victor is so enthralled, so wrapped up in the surprise of the performance, that it takes him a moment to come back to reality and realize it’s over.  The house lights come up a little, and Victor blinks, clapping enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd.  Only then does Yuuri approach the podium, head down a little in embarrassment, but Victor can tell he’s still fiercely proud of himself. 

Yuuri’s speech in is Japanese, so Victor only catches the odd word or two.  Instead, he focuses his attention on the sound of Yuuri’s voice as he watches him.  Yuuri is passionate about the subject, like all things with skating, and that comes across in what he says, even if Victor doesn’t understand.  Victor has never been prouder of Yuuri than what he is at this moment, at the way he’s managed to fire up the crowd yet again with his skating, and now his words.  Yuuri is wonderful; he will never stop surprising Victor, and Victor doesn’t ever want him to stop. 

* * *

Yuuri only returns to the table when all the speeches are done.  Victor watches him weave through the crowds, most of who are heading to the bar before the dancing starts, but Victor can’t wait that long.  He stands up, excuses himself from the table, and strides toward Yuuri, drawn to him with a longing he can’t explain.

Yuuri sees him at the last moment, and an expression of pleased surprise crosses his face.  “Victor,” he says, and that goes straight to Victor’s dick, the way Yuuri rolls the _r_ at the end of his name, drawing it out and spinning it into a question at the end with the unspoken _u_ the Japanese add. 

Victor can’t help it; he places a proprietorial hand on Yuuri’s lower back, as if to advertise that this man is his.  He’s powerless against the action; knows he’s being a caveman, but then Yuuri smirks and leans in, placing a delicate kiss just under Victor’s jaw, and Victor is _lost_.

They move to the side of the room where it’s less crowded, and where they can talk and hear each other over the heavy dance beat now blaring from the dance floor.  Yuuri leans back against the wall, accepting his second glass of champagne for the evening, and fixes Victor with a heavy, sensual look.  Victor leans in closer, one hand on the wall just above Yuuri’s shoulder.  They’re so close, almost in a private world like this and, judging by the look on Yuuri’s face, he knows Victor is raring to go.  It’s clear that Yuuri’s a lot more relaxed now that his job is done for the evening; he can lose himself in the moment. 

“That was… surprising,” Victor purrs out.

Yuuri smirks, tips his head to the side.  “Was it?”

“When did you do that?” Victor asks.  “Where did you get that costume? When did you choreograph that routine?”

Now Yuuri really laughs; it’s musical and joyous, happy.  “So many questions, Victor,” he says softly, and now Victor knows he’s teasing.  “Hmm, well, you were competing at Europeans, so I came into Tokyo to film this.  I’d been practicing this program on the sly while you were working on your free skate for your comeback.”

“Sneaky,” Victor says, leaning in closer, until he can almost feel Yuuri’s breath against his cheek, catch the faint scent of his cologne, musky with a hint of spice.

“I know.”  Yuuri pushes back from the wall, and Victor leans back just a little to give Yuuri room.  As much as he’d love to devour Yuuri here, they are in public, so he has to at least retain a little bit of common sense, unfortunately.  “I do have another surprise for you, however.” 

At Victor’s raised eyebrow, Yuuri reaches out, takes Victor’s hand, and pulls him closer, directing Victor’s hand to Yuuri’s neck.  Victor strokes his fingers across the soft skin just under Yuuri’s ear, watching him shiver a little with the contact.  Yuuri’s eyes go heavy lidded, suggestion coloring his face in a soft blush, and he pushes down with his hand, tilting his head to the side.  Victor allows Yuuri to dictate where his fingers trail, down his neck, to the edge of his dress shirt.  Yuuri’s loosened his tie a little, and Victor’s able to let his fingers slide beneath the collar of the shirt, where his fingers encounter… he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Victor breathes out, like he’s winded.  “Is that what I think it is?”  His fingers caress over the tight strip of velvet he can feel under Yuuri’s collar.  He knows what this is; he’s just seen Yuuri skate, the choker a part of his costume, cutting dark and severe across his throat.  And he’s wearing it now for Victor; all buttoned up prim and proper in layers of custom suiting, and beneath it… “Christ, Yuuri,” he says.

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks.  He licks his lips, still watching Victor carefully, obviously pleased with his reaction.

Victor suddenly has no words; everything he could say would be meaningless, but he’s aware that his expression probably speaks for itself.  All the blood in his body is rushing straight for his dick, and Yuuri knows it.  “We should leave. Now,” Victor manages to bite out.

Yuuri laughs again; another one of those musical laughs of his.  “It would be impolite to skip out early, Victor.  We have to at least stay for some of the dancing.”

Victor groans, leaning his forehead against Yuuri’s, fingers moving to play with the hair at the nape of Yuuri’s neck instead of worrying at the choker.  “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Yes, but you’re going to enjoy it, aren’t you?” Yuuri says with a wink, slipping under Victor’s arm until he’s free.  “Shall we dance?”

Victor knows he’s beaten.  He shoves his simmering lust down and pastes on a smile, one that Yuuri will recognize immediately as his public game face, and he gets ready to spend the next couple of hours being forced to be social and having to mingle.

It’s going to be the longest evening of his life.

* * *

“I’ve never been arm candy before,” Victor murmurs as Yuuri pushes him through the door to their hotel suite. “I kind of liked it.” He lets Yuuri manhandle him up against the nearest wall as the door shuts, tilts his head back to give Yuuri better access to his throat.  Yuuri doesn’t disappoint; soft lips caressing his skin, little licks and nips as he works his way down Victor’s throat, while his other hand makes short work of Victor’s tie.  It comes free from his neck in a whisper of silk, discarded instantly as Yuuri starts unbuttoning Victor’s waistcoat.

Victor’s not going to wait either; he ducks in for a kiss, hands cupping Yuuri’s face gently. Yuuri follows his lead for a moment, slowing his movements, but it’s clear he’s pretty keyed up from the evening; first the worry over his speech, and then the afterparty, resulting in a heady cocktail of emotions.  Yuuri’s probably still riding an endorphin high, and Victor has no compunction in letting Yuuri have free reign, if he’s honest with himself. 

He pushes Yuuri’s suit jacket off and works at his shirt buttons.  Despite managing to finally convince Yuuri of the benefits of a bespoke suit, he still goes for a two piece – pants and jacket – rather than Victor, who enjoys dressing to the nines and prefers a waistcoat under his.  Yuuri pushes Victor’s jacket off with the waistcoat in one movement, making a needy noise into the kiss.  He rolls his hips against Victor’s and Victor’s brain short circuits for a quick moment at the contact.  “God, Yuuri,” he breathes into the kiss, hands moving to Yuuri’s hips.  He lets Yuuri rut against him for a moment, head falling back to touch the wall.  Yuuri takes that for the invitation it is; grazes his teeth down Victor’s neck, swiping his tongue over his skin.  Yuuri’s not worried about leaving a mark; it’s now officially the off-season and Victor doesn’t have to worry about being in the public eye.

Yuuri finally gets Victor’s shirt undone, pushes it open.  He spreads his palms across Victor’s torso, running his hands over as much skin as he can, pushing and gripping, smoothing down to Victor’s waist, pulling him closer so they can rut chest to chest, hip to hip.  Victor enfolds Yuuri in his arms, rocking back into his touch, nuzzling into Yuuri’s neck.  His lips work from Yuuri’s jaw line, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that speak of his desire, his need, his _want_ , pressing Yuuri as close as he can, needing to feel the power in Yuuri’s muscles as he moves against him.  He tugs Yuuri’s shirt collar to the side, and feels the press of warm velvet against his lips.  Victor jerks his hips forward, earning a hard, needy moan from Yuuri. 

“Fuck,” Victor bites out, pulling back.  When Yuuri had pressed him against the wall, he’d forgotten about the choker Yuuri had been hiding beneath his shirt collar.  His fingers tighten on Yuuri’s waist as he nuzzles in closer; he remembers the elegant arch of Yuuri’s neck from his program when he’d tilted his head back, and now he has that right in front of him.  Victor flips Yuuri around, until their positions are reversed, and he pulls Yuuri’s tie free in a rush, pulling up his shirt so he can get his hands on all that glorious skin.  Yuuri laughs breathlessly, a little tipsy, and that laugh spurs Victor on until he’s working at the buttons on Yuuri’s shirt.  They’re tiny; silly little things that are insanely difficult to get undone.  Yuuri tips his head back and raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _problem, Victor?_ and Victor swears.  He pulls at the shirt and, because it’s well made, it doesn’t give.  He grasps both hands in the fabric, yanks again, and feels it split apart in a shower of buttons.  Victor couldn’t give a damn.  He swallows Yuuri’s indignant _‘Victor!’_ in another deep, desperate kiss, sliding his hands over Yuuri’s warm, smooth skin, fingertips dragging down, then up again as Yuuri arches into his touch.

Yuuri shoves Victor backward, walking him toward the bed.  The ruined shirt slides off one of Yuuri’s shoulders, and he peels it off slowly, making a show of it as he tosses it to the floor.  Victor’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he lets himself fall, lets Yuuri straddle him as he shuffles up the comforter until they’re both fully on the bed.  Yuuri leans over him, taking off his glasses and putting them to the side.  Then he sits up, settling down onto Victor’s hips.  He arches his back, running his hands through his hair, and Victor can only stare; he’s got Eros in his clutches now, moving above him.  The black of the choker cuts across Yuuri’s throat like a dark slash, sensual and deviant at the same time, and Victor surges upward, pulling Yuuri down into another hard kiss. 

Yuuri seems to like it slightly rough this evening; he moans into the kiss and rolls his hips again, planting his hands on either side of Victor’s shoulders for balance. When Yuuri pulls back he looks delectably mussed; lips red from kissing, cheeks painted with a deep blush.  He bites his lips, fixing Victor with a heated look, and leans in.  “I want to ride you,” he breathes out.  “Can I?”

God, Victor’s dreams are coming true.  He wants it all.  And he might have said that out loud, judging by the look on Yuuri’s face; part embarrassment, part determination and part lust.  It’s a lovely cocktail of expressions, he thinks.  He lets his hands slide down to Yuuri’s waist, over the buttons of his pants, and works them open, letting his palm glide over Yuuri’s erection through the fabric of his underwear.  Yuuri bucks; releasing a long drawn out moan.  “Hurry, Victor,” he says, and Victor’s never heard sweeter words.  He helps as Yuuri shimmies out of his dress pants; they join the growing pile of abandoned clothing on the floor.  Yuuri reaches over, fumbling in the bedside drawer for lube while Victor divests himself of his pants and his shirt. 

Now that they’re both naked, it’s almost overload for Victor, being able to run his hands over Yuuri’s soft skin, the impressive musculature underneath.  He pulls Yuuri back, running his hands down Yuuri’s spine to cup his ass and squeeze.  Yuuri squeaks, but he wriggles his ass in invitation, laughing softly.  “You want this?” he teases.

“Do I need to answer that?” Victor manhandles Yuuri until he’s straddling Victor’s shoulders, facing the bottom of the bed and Victor’s feet.  Victor has the perfect view now of the inside of Yuuri’s thighs, his taut stomach above Victor’s head, and that delectable cock only inches from his lips.  Victor strokes over Yuuri’s hips, pulling him backward, until he can tease the underside of Yuuri’s cock with his tongue, licking hot, wet stripes from his balls to the tip of his cock.  Yuuri tenses and then with a sigh goes pliant, thighs spreading in invitation.  As much as Victor loves Yuuri’s cock, that’s not what he wants, however.  He gives the head of Yuuri’s cock a quick suck, enjoying the sharp intake of surprise Yuuri makes.  Then he works his way backward; licking at Yuuri’s balls, his perineum, feeling Yuuri tense a little.  Yuuri knows what’s coming; Victor knows he loves this, loves being eaten out, but his initial hesitation is always what makes Victor squirm, his dick pulse and his heart race.  Yuuri is such a dichotomy of tease and retreat and, sometimes, he just loves to turn the tables.

He smooths his hands across Yuuri’s hips, over the firm swell of his ass, and parts his cheeks.  Yuuri’s panting softly; one hand fisted in the sheets, the other tightening on Victor’s hip.  Waiting.  Victor blows softly over Yuuri’s hole and Yuuri sucks in a gasp.  “ _Please_ , Victor,” he says, drawing out the end of Victor’s name again like it’s a request, a prayer.  Victor teases at Yuuri’s hole with a soft lick, then firmer, swirling his tongue around the rim of muscle while he kneads into Yuuri’s ass with his fingers.  Yuuri lets out a moan, breath hot against Victor’s cock as his knees slide on the sheets, spreading himself open.  Victor works Yuuri open slowly with his tongue, teasing, until Yuuri’s rocking his hips mindlessly against Victor’s tongue, fucking himself backward.  Victor loves this; loves feeling Yuuri surrender to him, moment by moment. 

And then Yuuri wraps his hand around the base of Victor’s cock and licks a wet line up the length of it, like a lollipop, before sliding his lips around the head and sucking.  Victor’s surprised; his hips jerk upward automatically into that warm, wet heat and he moans.  Yuuri keeps a firm grip on him, holding him down, setting his own pace, swallowing him down and then sliding back up, dragging his tongue along the underside of Victor’s cock.  It’s almost too much, and Victor applies himself to the task at hand, tongue thrusting into Yuuri’s loosening hole.  He fumbles with the lube, coats his fingers, and works one in alongside his tongue.  The result is incredible; Yuuri moans around his cock, the vibration working its way up Victor dick.  Two fingers in Yuuri’s ass and Yuuri’s rocking backward, pulling off Victor’s cock to moan loudly.  Victor works quickly at Yuuri’s ass, kissing it like a mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, if only to hear the bitten off noises that Yuuri’s making. 

“Oh god, Victor,” Yuuri says breathlessly.  “Stop, I’m going to – “

Victor recognizes the trembling in Yuuri’s thighs almost too late and he pulls back quickly, reaching for the base of Yuuri’s cock and squeezing.  Yuuri cries out, but he doesn’t come, and Victor lets his head fall back onto the pillow in relief.  He wants this to _last_. 

Shakily, Yuuri moves until he can see Victor, straddling his hips again and leaning in for a slow, deep kiss.  His fingers slide over Victor’s chest, exploring carefully.  He rocks his ass back against Victor’s cock, teasing, before kneeling up properly.  Yuuri looks wrecked, Victor thinks.  His hair is starting to fall back across his face in places, he looks debauched and used and Victor will never get tired of seeing Yuuri like this.  He watches as Yuuri arches his back, reaching behind himself to grip Victor’s cock, lining it up with his hole.  He waits, poised on the edge, watching Victor with heavy lidded eyes before he sinks slowly down.  His mouth parts on a sigh as he’s breached, and Victor fights not to thrust up into that tight heat, but to remain unmoving and let Yuuri go at his own pace.  It’s worth it; worth watching Yuuri’s expression change from a quick frown between his eyes to a look of total bliss as he bottoms out.  He clenches around Victor, wriggles a little, and places his hands on Victor’s chest, leaning forward.

“Are you going to fuck me nice and hard?” Yuuri purrs out, and Victor doesn’t need a second invitation.  He grips Yuuri’s hips and rocks up into Yuuri’s heat, watching as Yuuri arches his back and moans with every thrust that pushes Victor deeper.  Victor holds Yuuri steady, hands on his hips, and lifts Yuuri up, pulling him back down onto Victor’s cock. 

Yuuri is beautiful as he moves; the muscles of his thighs bunching as he lifts himself up, sliding under his skin, sheened with sweat from exertion.  He’s panting now, lips parted, watching as Victor moves beneath him.  Victor can’t take it; he surges upward into a sitting position and wraps one arm around Yuuri’s hip, the other sliding up his spine to hold him between his shoulder blades.  The change in angle has Yuuri crying out; leaning down to capture Victor’s lips in a bruising kiss.  Victor continues to thrust upward, to meet Yuuri’s every movement, and he can feel the sharp heat of his approaching orgasm in his belly, behind his balls. 

Yuuri tangles his fingers in Victor’s hair, tugging, and Victor moans into the kiss.  Yuuri knows it’s his weak point; but doesn’t use it often.  Yuuri’s movements turn frantic, bouncing in Victor’s lap, driving himself down onto Victor’s cock, a stream of half bitten off curses and moan falling from his mouth; half in English, half in Japanese.  Victor latches onto Yuuri’s throat, sucking at the skin just above the choker, and with a final pull on his hair, Victor comes, thrusting upward into Yuuri’s tight, clenching heat.  Yuuri’s arches backward at the same time, his warm come splashing between them, painting both their stomachs with a sticky mess. 

They remain joined, coming down together, exchanges soft kisses and soft words until Victor softens and slips from Yuuri’s ass.  Yuuri sighs and, together, they flop to the side, stretching out on the bed, exchanging gentle caresses and touches, delicate kisses.  Victor loves this part almost as much as he does the actual sex if he’s going to be honest.  He’s wrapped around the man he loves, and what really could be better?

“Hmmm,” Yuuri says, his voice tinged with satiated exhaustion.  “If this is the result, I should do more award ceremonies.”

Victor laughs, leaning in for another kiss.  “By all means do, as long as you only shake your delectable ass for me.”

Yuuri pushes up until he’s resting on one elbow.  He strokes his hand through Victor’s hair, pushing his fringe back off his face and smiling down at him.  “Always, and only you,” Yuuri says, leaning down for another deep, searching kiss. 

 

 


End file.
